The Acts of Changing
by ionegirl
Summary: To believe in something else that is not part of the physical world, that is what this Bookman desires to believe in. This is a story about Lavi's parents and what I think they were like. Please Read and Review.


AN: This chapter is primarily based on what I think Lavi's father would have been like. It's my opinion, and I know it may be COMPLETELY off, but that's the fun part about it. Any ways, please give it a try, I did a lot of research for this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that pretains to the anime -man.

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><p>The Acts of Changing<p>

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><p>Longing for you<p>

Day and in dream

I'm hoping you're here

And leading my way

You steer my road

Anytime I need

If you walk away

I will follow you

Trying my life

With your sacred gifts

You gave to me

I won't vain

And succeed it as your precious soul

Holding your hand

And I'm walking through

The all of the world

Carrying your wish

Like the Venus in the dim sky

Song: Aesthetic

Artist: Team Medical Dragon

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><p>What if the world you saw around you wasn't truly the world you imagined? What if love did make everything right? You would probably think I was crazy, wouldn't you? There might be a catch or a twist in the plot, one might think. Many old writers said that only children, the innocent, could see the world as a magical place. A world filled with many myths and possibilities, and where their dreams could come true. Optimists, people who believe in those possibilities, always seem to steer the righteous on.<p>

This story is about an optimist. One who fought against all odds, succeeded, and equally failed. Oxy moron? No, just a twist in the strands of time; just a simple turning of the last page in the book, and finally the cover. However, this story isn't about closing the book, but primarily trying to find what fits in the next empty page.

He had no name, and his only purpose was to record that which history forgot, or neglects remembering. Born a genius to a clan who served the Roman Catholic Church, the Vatican, and growing to find that the world was still as magical as when he first gazed his eyes upon it.

What if the child never truly grew up, though the body would say otherwise? Would they be forced to believe in the rational?

His father was constantly a foot, a wanderer at best, but his talent was great and well sought after in the Vatican. His father had become short over the years, which he continued to make fun of, due to some bone issues. That never changed the man's attitude though. Because of his father, our optimist was forced to be rational, so much so that he could no longer speak of dreams and myths that captivated his mind.

Maybe, of course, it all happened when he was a child, living in Switzerland with his caretakers.

"Child! Where have you run to? Always running and never around when I need you!" huffed an older woman wearing an old and ragged burgundy dress, a semi-white apron around her waist. Raising her hands to tug onto her brown hair tied into a bun, she whined.

"I needed some items from the market!"

Of course, she knew, the child was adventurous. He had the heart of a wanderer, eager to sightsee and let us not forget his enjoyment in breaking his bones.

The white house was simple, not a large mansion but also not a broken down hut. It was an ideal location for a child to grow as the location was set in what appeared to be the Garden of Eden. Lush bushes and tall grasses and trees that covered the crisp blue sky above that created a green ceiling. The garden to the south side of the house grew various vegetables and was surrounded by flowers that grew on vines, much like the morning glory. An old bench with a stack of books sat against the wall with a shovel and bucket beside it. A shed was hidden in the far back of the garden, its peeling white walls and slightly ajar door hidden by the vegetation.

The day was humid and left a sticky feeling to the skin, but the sun bore down its rays onto the single clearing in the forest. Grass grew its tallest here, and when the insects flew or fluttered, it always made him feel like he was in a dream. It was fun to just run through the grass, hiding in it and rolling around to find the little critters that he loved to play with. He remembered bringing back a small garden snake to his caretaker, Mrs. Brenson, and laughed when she squealed like a parrot.

This was his favorite spot of all, on top of a lonely granite rock when he pretended so many scenarios. Jumping onto the rock and acting as though he were at sea, holding onto a mast for dear life. Or standing on the top of a mountain where the grass was the trees, and the spiders were his minions. Of course, he was never truly allowed to have such a vivid imagination. Father always spoke of disciplining the mind and concentrating on history, and that the imagination was too frivolous for a Bookman.

He didn't care what his father thought, however, and he always ran wild through the forest, where he felt free. Today, he thought, would be a good day to wander further out of the boundaries that he had made. He ran as fast as his small legs would go, jumping over logs and speeding past tree trunks. His chest rising and falling with each gasped breath, while a smile worked its way over his lips as excitement rushed him. Seeing rays of sunlight in front of his path, he quickly made a b-line for the area. Skidding to a stop, his right foot was only inches away from the side of a high cliff. But, the sight was indeed breath-taking.

Two brown eyes stared out across the forest, noticing the birds flying and the stream that cut through the land. Following the stream to the distance was the town where he and Mrs. Brenson would always go for supplies. He queried how many travelers had stopped at that very spot to look out across the land. The mountains all around him covered with the whitest snow ever.

His short messy brown hair drifted back and forth with the wind, his eyes wide open with seeing nature's beauty. Quickly lifting the black wrap around his shoulders, he pulled out his small book and quill. Opening the book to the next empty page, he wrote down everything about this moment he could muster, and drew a small drawing at the end.

"There." Holding up his book, he compared his drawing to that of the landscape and smiled. It didn't hold the artistic value, but he didn't mind, he just wanted to be able to remember this place. He sat there on the edge of the cliff for some time, watching the clouds roll over the mountains and the sunlight change to a beautiful yellow over the mountains. When it got closer to that of dusk, he grabbed his book and slowly stood up. The motion and stretching of his stomach created a sound that should have come from a monster. Well, he had gone all day without food, he supposed now would be the best time to go home and receive the wrath of his caretaker. He even began to formulate different excuses to give her. Trying to find his way through the forest was somehow harder than before as the trees didn't look the same any longer. It shouldn't be all that hard to find his way though, all he had to do was find the clearing and he'd be able to get home easily. Yet, finding that clearing seemed to be hard with the sunlight diminishing fast.

His stomach growled again, but he resisted, he was strong and he wouldn't give up either. Huffing up his chest and taking a couple steps forward, he imagined that he was a brawn pirate marching up the streets of some seaside town. He continued until his foot felt light suddenly, and his body collapsed to the ground, falling too abruptly for him to grab onto anything. He fell down into an old hunter's trap. Yelping as he hit the bottom, he lay on his side cringing at the uncomfortable sensation in his leg. Looking around, he was thankful that this trap had been taken apart and no old spears pointed upward. It was just an empty hole, and looking upward, he found that it was a pretty deep hole.

Pushing himself off the cold soft ground, he soon realized that the sharp pain in his leg was from a snapped femur. He cried out as he fell back to the ground and clasped his hands around his leg, trying to hold it steady. Clenching his teethe as he snapped the bone together, he let out another yelp and seized up his body. He feared that if he moved than he would find another broken bone. However, if he stayed in that hole, no one would ever find him. Shutting his eyes tightly, he fought back the inching fear and tried to replace it with determination. Removing his black shoulder wrap, he tore off a small section to use it as a bandage. Then, digging his small hands into the dirt, he lifted himself off the ground and looked up. The top of the whole still appeared to be so much higher, but he had to try. Jumping on his good leg, he dug his foot into the earth, while his hand searched for anything to grab. Unfortunately, the earth gave way and he fell back down into the hole, landing on his bad leg.

This time he screamed in pain and buried his face in his arm, whimpering softly as he let the throbbing in his leg continue. The utter pain in his leg shot up his spine and sent him into spasms. He was cold now, and the sun long gone. Using what was left of his shoulder wrap he laid there on the ground and tried to make himself warm again. All the while, he continued to whimper like a broken child. He was trapped, with a broken leg, what was he supposed to do now?

He laid there for hours, unable to get any sleep. The pain was too strong and his body was too cold to let him get a wink. The drowsiness grew heavy within him and as his spasms wore away, he just stared off into space. Then, when a white feather dropped to the ground, he didn't move. A bird probably lost it when it flapped away. But as he stared at this white feather, it seemed to glow blue in the dark hole. How was that possible? Lifting his head slightly, he moved his hand to grab it. The soft sides were warm, and holding it, he discovered it was truly glowing.

"Are you all right?" Came a high girlish voice, causing the boy to turn his head hastily. There, looking down at him was a little girl with hair that resembled the moon. It was long and straight, and framed her pale peach skin. She practically glowed as bright as the feather in his hand. He wanted to say something, but his mind drew a blank. Her blue eyes, innocent and happy, watched him closely. Finally, managing to sit up straight, the boy let his lips part.

". . . Hi." He said then speedily hit his forehead with his palm. That was NOT what he wanted to say.

But the girl laughed, her eyes closing as she waved back, "hi." She said innocently giggled back to him.

The boy smiled as he watched her laugh at his only word. She appeared to be so angelic, and even ghostly, but still so sweet and so real.

"Here," she giggled as she lowered her hand down to him, "let me help you out of there."

He frowned, "but, I'm not tall enough, and I have a broken leg. I won't be able to rea-"

"Don't worry, you can reach my hand easily, I promise." She smiled down at him, and lowered her hand down an inch more. He frowned, completely sure that he wouldn't be able to reach her. Supposing he should give it one last try, the boy stood up, wincing at the prompt throbbing to his leg.

"Jump!" she commanded lightly, but the boy glared.

"I told you, my leg is broke, if I jump and miss then I-"

"You have to believe, without that… there would never be any hope." She continued confidently, "Come on, take my hand and I will get you out of there." He was nervous about doing it, about jumping and reaching for her hand and not making it, and feeling the horrible pain in his leg. But what other choice did he have? His deep brown eyes looked worriedly at her blue orbs. She appeared so confident, so surreal for the situation, when surely he had already given up. To believe in himself, did that also mean working through the pain? Taking a deep breath, he limped over to the other side of the hole, and stared up at her hand. Narrowing his eyes with determination, he used what little strength he had in his body, and leapt for her hand. His foot dug into the earth and his hand shot for hers, missing it once his foot slid out from underneath him. He felt himself fall and knew that the impending doom of the cold ground was waiting to meet him. Then, as his eyes shut closed, warm fingers grasped upon his hand and held him by the wall of the hole. Opening his eyes he saw the girl smile down at him, her white hair becoming drapes around his face, and her warmth seemed to spread through him. His eyes stayed locked onto hers, feeling the inability to shut them. It was then the girl lifted him out of the hole.

Pain yet again shot through his leg and the warmth disappeared as soon as she let go. He immediately fell to his side and his hands shot for his broken leg.

"Ow!" he cringed as he began to curl up on the ground, the girl all the while watched him. It appeared she was unsure of something, whether to smile or to leave him there as she stood up and stared down at him. Her eyes shook, and when he looked up at her next, he furrowed his brows.

"What . . . What is it?" He said through gritted teethe. The girl shook her head quickly and she smiled sincerely. She sat down beside him and slowly removed his hands, then looked to him and closed her eyes, "My name is long forgotten, but maybe someday we will meet again, little boy?"

The boy's eyes shot open and he was instantly overcome by light. He felt dizzy, and suddenly warm yet again, the pain dissipated as the light faded away into darkness. He wanted to explain more to her, but the drowsiness over his body became too much. His body loosened as he felt oddly warm, comfortable where he lay. The feeling of softness surrounded him, just as if he were lying in his bed, with the pillow underneath his head. With great concentration, he forced his tired eyes open only to find that he was in his bed, surrounded by blankets and books. He was home, in his room . . . but how?

His barely parted eyes slowly drifted to his side where he saw the feather, looking as soft as when he picked it up but the glow had long diminished. Behind that feather, lay the dark brown eyes of an older man. His glare darkened as he noticed the boy's eyes fall onto his face. He leapt off of the pile of books easily without knocking them down.

"Fa… Father?" the boy questioned, as the man's glare only sharpened.

"You should know better," came the crackling voice of the older man, "than to call me your father."

The boy's eyes shifted back toward the ceiling, "sorry . . . Bookman."

Bookman stared at his son, and released a deep sigh. His son was aggravating at times, yet the boy was still young, he had not received any training to become a Bookman. However, whenever he did give his son a test, he always passed with flying colors. Bookman knew that this child held great promise for the clan. He knew full well that his only child would grow to become an even better Bookman than himself. However, the boy's eye color . . .

. . . The successor's eye color had dramatically changed. They were no longer a deep brown, but now were as golden as the sun's rays. That change in his eyes, from over a month, was curious.

"So, why did _Bookman_ travel here today?" said the boy in a sour tone. His golden eyes locked to the ceiling above, feeling that if he looked toward his father, he'd receive the infamous glower. Really, if he didn't want him to be his son, just leave him alone.

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><p>Eight years later...<p>

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><p>"YAHOO! I'll have another one of these!" cheered a rather buzzed and blissful young man as he raised his pint sized mug above him. His cheeks had already turned a shade of red as he had drunk down the previous mug quickly. He chuckled before having to clear his throat and continued laughing in a raspy boyish voice.<p>

"Wow! The Irish are some people!" He shouted and several of the huskier men cheered to it, equally laughing. Who knew a tavern would actually be any fun? Sure, he was 16 years old, but to the hardworking Irishman he was perfectly fit for drinking. Rapidly he threw his arm in front of his silent comrade and placed the empty mug against his chest.

"Renji! You HAVE to have some of this! Of course, it burns going down . . . but it's still amazing! Haven't felt this good since . . . since . . ." The younger man leaned forward and his eyebrow twitched as he tried to remember when, but the alcohol had already blurred his thinking process. Renji stayed silent, but it was obvious he was agitated with the youth's actions.

"Anyways! Have some!" The brown-haired Bookman egged him on, smiling while he was doing so, and Renji immediately turned his head the opposite way.

Bookman grumbled at the man's response as he was hoping his friend would join in on the activity, maybe loosen the poor man up. Shakily, the brown-haired man placed the empty mug on the counter and started going woozily back and forth in his chair.

"We came here to get information," he chuckled, "and what better way to do that than to _blend in_ with the natives?"

"You're a buffoon." Renji softly retorted.

"You're a worrywart." Bookman grumbled then shot his head to his companion after realizing his sudden remark. Okay, maybe he had gone too far with the drinking and _blending. _But it was his first assignment, and Renji was right, he was acting a little foolishly.

"Cheers!" He shouted, "My friend has cured his muteness!"

Renji immediately glared daggers at the jovial Bookman and held back the urge to knock him a good one. The men around the tavern raised their mugs and clunk them together, screaming "Hooray!" and other words. Renji had to admit it however, that Bookman did well by getting in good with the men there. All the while, the younger one was seriously enjoying the attention he was receiving from all the Irishmen, each one making comments on how scrawny the poor boy was; this coming from farmers and businessmen alike.

Bookman didn't drink an ounce of his second mug, and instead gave it to a man beside him on the table saying that if he were to drink another, they'd find him lying in a puddle of his own insides.

"Hey bartender!" Bookman yelled over the ruckus of the good intentioned fight that was starting in the background, "just pure curiosity, have you heard anything weird going on?"

The bartender, wiping a mug clean and placing it on the inner counter, spoke loudly, "what d'ya mean, stranger? Describe weird."

Bookman blinked before continuing on a little more seriously, "ya know, like something outta place? Something that doesn't regularly happen on a day to day basis? For example! Witches! Has there been anything about witches?" Bookman laughed heartily, but the man behind the counter had stopped abruptly. In the background, the men had started putting their fists up and hitting each other. The grunts and groans of the men got louder as the silence between the two at the counter grew longer. Renji turned his head away from his drunk companion and kept a close eye on the fight, just in case someone got the thought of having Bookman accompany the fist throwing activities.

Finally, the bartender took in a deep breath, "most of the time," he spoke a little bitterly, "the beings you refer to as witches are more like demons in the flesh. Our version of 'witches' is a little sweeter."

The Bookman narrowed his golden eyes, "demons in the flesh?"

"Yep, demons that possess the bodies of innocent young women. Now, if that's what you're talking about, then maybe I can pass some good ol' tales for ya."

Renji sat down beside Bookman, eager to listen to the stories that the older man was about to share. Both watched as the bartender picked up another stray mug and began cleaning it. The men in the background had begun to cease their battle of testosterone inside and had started to walk outside when Bookman said with a faint slur, "Let me hear what you have to say ol' man. After all, many believe that demons don't exist, and I'd like to beg to differ."

The bartender looked at the young ones in a deeper tone, "Gentlemen, these young men want to learn some about the O'Connell Family, care to put in your share?" Each of the men who were brawling made an immediate stop, each one turned back at Bookman and Renji with faces of fear.

"The Devil's family, they are!" growled one man, the biggest of the group and oddly enough the most battered. "They take our cattle in the middle of the night and slaughter them for sacrifices to their God." Spoke another, fear definitely infused in his speech. "They plague our families with illnesses, and kill our children. Why, we have to have a man take shifts to watch the town now."

Okay, he got it; the so called O'Connell Family was a family of Satanists who scavenged the town at night either for trials or sacrifices for their God slash Gods. It was a grounded theory. There were many Satanist worshipers during the times of great strife and war. And being as the British were forcing their ways onto the Irish, it was no wonder that there would be some rebels.

Turning his head toward Renji, he gave a small shrug thinking that this wasn't too much of an interest to the Vatican. Renji, on the other hand, kept his narrow black eyes on the bartender, expecting more. The senior of the two was always a bit keener than the junior, so Bookman decided to keep his ears open.

"O'Connell family, huh? Tell me more. Maybe I could go exorcise some?" Bookman leaned on his hand, still not as impressed with the story as Renji and because of his lack of interest, Renji sent him a stiff glare.

The bartender laughed darkly, "doubt ya could ever exorcise any one of 'em. Them witches are evil to the core. They say, that when the demon possesses them, it also becomes part of them."

Bookman quirked his thin eyebrow, "it integrates with them?"

The bartender nodded, "that's it, and what's worse is the lead witches force it onto the younglings. See, we've all heard our fair share of rumors and stories, that's what's got all the men scrambling.' And there's a new rumor."

The brown-haired Bookman looked up at the man through the corner of his eyes and could see the grave expression, "the head witch, the strongest of all of 'em, is forcing her own daughter to take on an enormous demon, one from the bottom-most pits of Hell."

Bookman's eyes narrowed at the man, partially believing that the bartender's story was true, but the second part being that of a mixture of fear and myth. It was known to Bookman that demons did walk among the living, and it was something that the Vatican church kept hidden in order to keep the public from going into turmoil over the smallest of details. His golden eyes looked over to his companion, who was staring right back at him. Pushing himself off of the countertop, Bookman began picking up his things and placed a couple of silver dollars on the wooden counter. Renji also began getting up from the bar stool, but passed a glance to his right to notice the brawling men were still standing in the doorway. The bartender pounded his fist down onto the counter and glared daggers at the young Bookman.

"You don't believe us, do you? Ya think we're crazy!"

"N-No, that's not ―" Bookman edged away from the man.

"We're not lying when we say they are the Devil's own flesh and blood. They are the demons in human flesh!" Pushing his chest against the high counter, he leaned forward toward Bookman, "they sacrifice their own children to be born in his blood, and to gain his strength. They turn their own children into demons!"

Another man also had begun to glare, "now that I think about it, I don't think I've seen you two around here before."

The Irishman behind the counter leaned in closer to Bookman, making the youth tilt backward. He was starting to invade his bubble. It was his bubble, and he didn't feel like sharing it anytime soon.

The man's eyes narrowed minutely as he stared at the youngster, "say . . . your eyes are a weird color. I don't think I've ever seen a boy with eyes as gold as yours."

Renji quickly looked back at the men in the doorway who had all begun to turn toward the two. The bartender kept staring at Bookman who had also noticed that the little tavern situation had suddenly turned against him. In a ploy to protect himself, Bookman raised his hands and waved in a gesture to not get the wrong idea.

"M-My eyes started turning this color when I was eight ― Uh! That is, it's a long story, and it deals with a little girl saving me and ―" Backing away from the men who seemed all to keen about the two strangers, Bookman laughed nervously. Not the best way to handle things he supposed, but he wasn't quite stable from the booze that he had drank earlier. Then, hell froze over as he felt his left leg bump into a wooden table leg, and the men who had been closing in slowly now jumped for the two.

Renji was the first to make a strike, blocking a punch from one brute and pushing the man back into the group. Each of them tumbled back into the floor like bowling pins, and Renji pulled out a powdered egg, broke it, and spread the powder into the air. He took this chance to turn around toward Bookman to grab him, but when he turned, the junior was gone. A window's curtains flapped into the breeze as a newly opened window slammed closed due to the winds outside. Renji blankly glared for a second before making his exit out of the same window.

Bookman was buzzed, so he could not have gotten too far ahead of him.

Leaping out of the window with a dash, he raced down the side of a hill that looked to have slide marks all the way down it. Sure enough, as he came sliding down the hill, he found his dizzy companion lying face down on the dirt. Bookman's cloak covered much of him and almost camouflaged him if it weren't for that pale skin of his. He had probably passed out from the quick motions and made his world spin a little too fast.

The top of the hill roared with angry Irishmen, the lanterns lit up the darkness and moved in. Renji grabbed his companion and lifted him over his shoulder, then raced on to disappear further from the men.

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><p>"Did you hear?" spoke a woman, from where he couldn't tell exactly.<p>

"Hear what?" came another woman's voice, curious over the sudden question.

"Hear about the O'Connell family's eldest daughter?" replied the first voice, and his eyes shot open after hearing the name. His amber eyes stared off at the wooden walls, not paying attention to much of anything except for the voices.

"No, what happened?" This time, the second woman's voice was a little lower, almost in a hushed tone to make sure no one would listen in on their conversation. Unfortunate for them, they had the number one eavesdropper just on the other side of the wall. He was laying in his small bed, and had turned away from the wall to let his ear catch more.

"Supposedly, the head mother of the clan took her out to the ceremony."

"What? Are you sure?" softly screeched the younger woman, fear working its way into her speech.

"Yeah, I guess she had to be dragged to the ceremony because she was fighting so hard."

"Where did you hear this?"

Bookman slowly rose from the bed and silently strode over to the doorway. Placing one hand on the door and another onto the door handle, he quietly propped it open. His amber eyes scouting the area within the hallway just outside the door, but could not see where the voices were coming from. The O'Connell family was the one he had over heard at the bar the night before.

"I just heard it from one of the men who were on patrol last night."

Gossip. It had a nasty way of transforming into something else. However, from what he could gather, the O'Connell family was the group of witches that the Vatican had ordered him to go check out. Looking back into the room, he saw Renji sleeping like a log in the corner. The sunlight trickling in as touching the wooden floor just in front of his black shoes. The man almost looked like a breathing shadow with the way he was dressed, all in black robes curled up comfy in the corner.

Bookman closed the door, and rubbing his hand through his mangled hair, he thought of the conversation he had had last night. The bartender had told him that the O'Connell's were not witches, but humans possessed with demons. The one question did, however, linger with him. What was this ceremony that everyone was so afraid of?

Slapping his face several times finally brought the adrenaline rushing through his veins, and gave him the necessary energy to get dressed. He threw on his three layers of clothing – his long sleeved sweater, a shirt on top of that, and then his brown geometrically patterned cloak. Grabbing his grayish blue pants, he shook them fervently and then slipped them on. He picked up his walking stick that leaned against the wall beside his bed, and kept it propped between his arm and chest while he grabbed his brown boots. All the while, he tried incredibly hard to be as quiet as possible being as his companion had barely gotten any sleep.

Standing up was his untimely downfall as he forgot to grab his walking stick and it quickly fell to the ground. He swung several times to grab it, each time hitting the tip of his fingers before it made a loud tapping sound startling Renji awake.

He jumped up and looked around quickly, his equilibrium obviously still off-kilter as he stumbled to stand into a fighting position. Bookman stared at him and sweat-dropped at his klutzy move then slowly smiled.

"Um… Good morning?"

Relaxing his muscles and lowering his guard, Renji stared blankly at Bookman, still a little upset over what had happened last night. Bookman nervously laughed and picked up his walking stick from the wooden floor. However, as his fingers grazed its surface, it had strangely gone flying to the other side of the room. He stared at the area of where the stick had been and his fingers twitched with doom. As he turned his head to look at Renji, sure enough the man was standing with a fist raised.

WHAP!

Bookman slammed into the floor as soon as the hit connected. Instantly sitting up on his knees, he fought back the tears in the corners of his eyes as he massaged the newly formed bruise on the back of his head.

"OW! Why'd ya do that, Renji?"

Renji stood tall and took a deep breath, "venting."

TBC…

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><p>AN: Well, this is the beginning to what I believe could turn out to become a really awesome story! Everyone has always wondered what happened to Lavi's parents, and this is my theory of what his father would have been like. Now, I'm going off the idea that Lavi's father was supposed to be the successor to the Bookman Clan, and if you read the manga, you should know what happens later on. Now, this is my story and I will add plot twists and what not, just because I want it to be interesting! :3 Any ways, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Depending on whether or not I get any reviews, I might do another chapter. SO PLEASE REVIEW!<p> 


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